Tormented
by simba317
Summary: An introspective Lyla piece dealing with the events around 2x13, Humble Pie. Lyla thinks on all that's happened, everything that's wrong and a simple memory from yesteryear. Tim/Lyla


**Disclaimer:** Do not own the incredible Friday Night Lights.

**Author's Notes:** I've sort of had this idea in my head for maybe a week at the most…and then Magali sort of inspired me to write something with her FNL fics, so I just got writing. I kinda miss this a lot, getting in the groove of things with the character. When I have time, I'll overhaul some of my X-Men stuff and finish that chapter for TSCC.

I fell in love with Friday Night Lights and Tim and Lyla in like a day when I started watching the series…now I own both DVD sets lol…anyway, this is a Tyla focused story, centering on Lyla's thoughts and feelings set around Humble Pie when Tim professes his love for her.

* * *

**TORMENTED**

Why had she walked instead of running out of that house?

She should have run.

Because if he didn't say it, it wouldn't be real. Everything would still be fine. Even if she swears she can feel something bleeding, she flees, hoping to save what little she has left.

But what if it's already gone?

The candles and the dinner, she saw it and had known she had to get out, get out before she's devoured whole. She's never wanted to feel like this, never wanted to be at the mercy of her weaknesses.

Still, as she starts her car, she can't help but feel that she's left a part of herself in that house.

She curses the betrayal of her heart.

And it's not until she's past his street and turned off to another that the tears finally come to blur her vision. She can't make it to the lights because they come down so hard and she realizes she's sobbing, that her shoulders are shaking and she can barely breathe.

And the sky decides to join her, distorting the world outside.

Upon pulling over, her body breaks and she collapses on the steering wheel. It hurts horribly. She feels so sick.

Everything in her world is so wrong.

And the things she wanted to say so badly get caught in her throat and die for something else to replace it.

Do words with no conviction still convince?

She's aware that God has brought her no solace. She's tried so hard to be a good girl and let her light shine, her good pure light. But what if it just casts over her shadows? Because in solitude, they arise again and she's stuck with the horrors.

They don't go away.

She doesn't want to be her mother, that cheerleader who cheered the football star to victory, only to find herself lead to Hell, for he was nothing but a falling star. She doesn't want to be stuck with a sinner, a weak disloyal man. She doesn't want to allow her heart to be broken continuously for years and years, let the tears come in the still, cold darkness of night and a façade of a smile to display in the light of the miserable morning. She doesn't want to be driven insane by the silken web of fragile lies holding everything together. She doesn't want to go through fire again.

She doesn't want to be her father, the unfaithful, the feeble and pathetic parasite, draining that admirer's love, until she was barren. She doesn't want to be the deceiving seed that was passed on. She doesn't want to be damned from birth, daughter of a sinner, unfaithful forevermore. She doesn't want to be the spinner and architect of lies. She doesn't want to watch others wither at her selfishness. She doesn't want to be the siren calling to him to run his boat ashore to his doom. She doesn't want to cause the one dear to her inherited harm.

She wants to be good.

_I love you. I can't…_

Aristotle said that tragedy must have a hero of noble birth and of character, above the mortals, to fall because of a fatal flaw, a hubris; not such a flaw that was overtly horrible, for this flaw when one possessed it sparingly was intended for good. With those qualities, the nobility of birth and character and a fatal flaw, the hero fell further and all the more tragically. Oh how she had fallen, left with nothing in the end. For the hero never gets back what was lost. Jason proved that.

When did it come to this? When did this first happen?

She knows it wasn't from a kiss of desperation launched in the wake of despair. That kiss after the rain was the culmination of a lifetime and she knew it. Was it the first look, the first smile? Was it that first kindness he gifted upon her? And she knew even then, it had been a gift, more than a boy like him could possibly give and yet he still did. She hopes he knows that she still cherishes that gift of years past.

It had been maybe ten years ago, but she still remembers the frosty chill in the November air, the yellow and brown leaves crunching beneath her feet, a sombre sky stripped of warmth and the line of small children in a long row of pairs that held hands. She remembers the warmth of his hand that clutched her safely, securely. She remembers the unruly light brown hair that was unkempt and long, not unlike it was now. She remembers his earthy hazel eyes that even so young held more hardships than they should. Still, in that cold world, he was her warmth.

She remembers her lovely white sundress with the big ladybugs, her favourite. She remembers how she begged for her mother that morning to let her wear it even though it was bitingly cold. She remembers how her mother eventually conceded, but not before she made her wear a pair of purple tights and a black tee shirt underneath, along with a warm jacket and rain boots. She remembers how she was admonished under no circumstances to get that dress dirty.

She remembers how the teacher divided them into pairs and she became his partner. She remembers his smile. She remembers how he told her that he liked ladybugs in an almost whisper before he takes her hand. She remembers telling him that she liked ladybugs too and smiling back.

She remembers the fieldtrip to the creek a short walk from the elementary school, how they scoured for the most obnoxious, disgusting and yet delicate and beautiful creatures to capture with their little nets and jars much too large for their tiny hands. He had caught her a jar full of the last vibrant red ladybugs along with his own collection of spiders, centipedes and ants.

"Hey…Lyla," even then he extended the syllables of her name, "I…I got something special!"

"Really? What is it?" she asks excitedly.

He shows her his clasped hands, clasped just so that there is enough space to keep that something special. He lets a small space open and allows her to peek in.

It's beautiful.

"A butterfly!" she squeals happily, her long chocolate brown hair bouncing loose on her shoulders.

The wings are bright and still fluttering. Hurriedly, she grabs another jar and wrenches it open as fast as she can and positions it for Tim to release it into. After a few moments of struggle, the lid is recapped and they lie in the grass to observe their jars, their crowning achievement being that butterfly that has somehow survived it through the autumn.

"Thanks, Tim," she whispers. And he just shrugs.

"It makes you happy," he says simply.

A flutter of blue catches her eye.

"Tim, it's a dragonfly!" she exclaims, scrambling to her feet, she chases after it towards the rocky shore of the creek with its muddy, bubbly water. Her feet crunch and catch on the slippery rocks. She sees the dragonfly fluttering out of her grasp as water comes all around her.

She realizes she's covered in mud and water. She realizes that she's in deep trouble with her mother. She realizes that she's freezing cold.

"Lyla! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks as he helps her out of the chilly water. His hands were still warm.

"Yes…I'm fine. My mama's gonna kill me!" she whispered.

Miss Lawrence rushed to her side.

"Lyla, sweetheart, are you alright? What happened?" asked the teacher, face concerned, checking her for injury.

"Ummm…" she can't get the words out.

"Lyla, honey, what happened? It's alright, sweetie, you can say it," she said with a comforting smile.

"Yes, ma'am…I…" she started, but a voice interrupted.

"I pushed her in," he said, looking at his feet.

"Tim! What am I gonna do with you? I want you to apologize to Lyla and then you're doing all the cleaning for yourself and Lyla, got that?" responded Miss Lawrence to her resident troublemaker.

"Lyla, I apologize for pushing you into the creek. I'm sorry," he says.

"Tim…" her head shakes, but he gives her a look.

She sighs, "Apology accepted, it's alright."

"Now, I don't want you doin' that again, Timothy," admonished Miss Lawrence.

"Yes, ma'am," said Tim earnestly.

"Good boy, now go clean up," ordered Miss Lawrence, and Lyla watched him head back to where their three jars were and he began putting all their things back into their backpacks, leaving the heavy jars for himself once again.

Ten minutes later, it was time to head back. The children begin to form their long line again.

He hands her his jacket and it leaves him in a thin, ratty green t-shirt that matches his eyes, "Here."

She begins to protest, so he just places it on her shoulders.

"Alright now, I want to see y'all holding hands," Miss Lawrence says and Tim takes her hand again and between the warmth of the body heat still in his jacket and his hand, she feels the cold leave her body. It started to rain lightly.

"Why'd you do that?" she asks as the elementary is in sight. She hands him the jacket back, "You're gonna catch a cold…"

"No more than you will," he grins and then with a serious expression, "I don't want you to get in trouble," he says sincerely.

She remembers her mother picking her up and the look she shot Tim Riggins when Miss Lawrence explains what happened and she wishes that they knew the Tim she saw, but she can't say anything, because her mother doesn't let her get a word in, talking about laundry detergent.

Even then, he had known what people expected of him and of her too.

She searches for answers, but finds none. God listens, but He does not answer. It's not abandonment, but she is alone and being tested, she thinks. But she can find no answer within herself.

She hates that his words were the ones she wanted the most and loathed the most to hear.

She wants more than anything to be free from all of this.

But then she remembers the only times she was free and they were the moments in his arms, being loved truly for the first time her life.

What frees her, traps her.

So she walks away. And she hurts for it.

Her sobbing has subsided at last. It's late and she doesn't know how long she's been parked, while the rain reminded her of their first kiss and first time together.

Sometimes she swears that he's everywhere.

Late at night, when her thoughts are hazy, she almost swears she can still smell him on her sheets and she curses the fact that she hasn't been intimate with anyone else since. She couldn't. In the mornings, when her mother makes waffles, she feels an onslaught of melancholy. When she opens her closet and sees that sundress, it's the one that she can't bare to put on anymore. During Christmas last year, she was the one who had to put up the lights in front of the house and they were exactly the ones he had on his wall. She felt a pain in her chest.

And of course, she lives in the small town of Dillon, Texas, so his is everywhere she is regardless. Her heart twinges every time he falls a little further into self destruction. She wishes she were any one of the girls that he was with over the course of the year, but knows she can't. She feels an ache and longing instead. She had too much time with her thoughts after things with Jason fell apart.

Does he even remember me at all? It's what she wonders, secretly.

They were doomed from the get go anyway. She recalls walking in on her mother watching Dr. Phil one afternoon, relationships built out of cheating don't work out.

She uses her hands to wipe away the tears and looks into her rear view mirror. She laughs. She looks horrible. Her eyes are swollen and red, mascara tracks run down her tear tracked cheeks and her makeup is smudged at all angles. She looks a mess, appearance finally showing her turmoil.

Somehow, she gathers the strength and pulls out of the curb. The streets are still awash with rain and the water smears her windshield, distorting the image of Dillon to the ghostly glow of fluorescent lights against an oppressing sky of the darkest black. Those lights seem doomed to fail against the night that is so dark in Dillon, not like in Austin when the Panthers won State. In Austin, the night is false and bears none of the warnings of old to stay indoors.

Then finally, she's home and in bed, but she's on autopilot and she doesn't know how she got there. She doesn't want to think about this. Anything but this.

She can't though.

_Lyla…I can't…I can't stop thinking about you, Lyla. I can't…_

She can still feel him and it's one of those hazy nights that drive her insane.

She's at the church the next afternoon, but for once, she's not praying for redemption.

"Chris…I need some help," she says softly.

"What is it, Lyla. What's wrong?" he asks her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She misses the way he says her name.

"Umm…someone I care very much about is in trouble," she says her brow furrowed, voice thin.

"Oh? What does he need?" he asks, his concern is genuine. Her heart belongs to another, but she can still love him, she thinks.

"Three thousand dollars…or he'll be in trouble and he won't…he won't turn to anyone for help…he doesn't really have anyone…and he needs it…desperately…" she can't look Chris in the eyes.

"Would it be…would it be possible to…to please use the money from the donations box…I know…I know that others probably need that more than him, but if ever he needed this charity…it's now. Please…" she begs and implores, finally able to meet his eyes. She knows that Chris sees her desperation. She doesn't know what else to do.

She doesn't want to see Tim beat up again. It worries her. The fights he gets into have an intention on his part of self punishment. She hates that.

"Of course, Lyla," he takes her hand in his, giving her his support, "I'll be back in a moment.

He rounds the corner to the office and comes back with a set of keys on a large silver ring, he opens the box and it's filled to the brim with green bills of fifties, twenties, tens, fives and ones, even a few c-notes. Concentrating, Chris pulls out the biggest bills and begins counting, a large stack of money builds and she feels guilty.

I can't give you my love, but here's three thousand dollars. I hope you feel better. It's so shallow and it hurts her to do this instead.

When done, he tells her to go to the bank, to get change; it's too much money to try carrying nondescriptly in small bills and big stacks without attracting trouble, even in Dillon. With the cash in her purse and heavy heart, she turns to leave the church and head for the bank. Chris' voice stops her.

"Tell Jason that he can rise from anything and that this set back will not bury him," he says.

She doesn't have the heart to correct him. He's a good man.

"Yes, of course," she replies with a tight smile. She remembers that she's a bad liar and a poor actress, but he doesn't say anything.

That evening, she loiters outside the Riggins' door before she finally has the courage to knock. Tim's older brother answers. He's the only one who's always cared for him.

Not like her, her thoughts betray.

When he comes to the door, she sees hope in his eyes, a plea. Tim Riggins still dares to hope. It's rare. And she knows that she will crush it.

He doesn't accept the money, so she throws it at his feet and turns away. It's all she has left to offer him.

If his heart was broken last night, hers was shattered long before.

* * *

Wow…I think I managed to put a November Rain reference into it…anyway, I love the line from that song 'So if you wanna love me, then darlin' don't refrain, or I'll just end up walkin' in the cold November Rain'…it's very Tyla…so yeah. I just realized I put rain and set the month of November in it so yeah lol.

I can't stand Dr. Phil…and I'm using him more as a dig…since he has no credibility and so Lyla shouldn't take what he said into consideration basically.

Ummm…I didn't expect this to extend beyond 1200 words, but it did and I wrote it in one sitting…it's been awhile since I've done this and it feels good.

As for the Jason thing, Jay's special quad car broke down and he was having issues fixing it since it cost so much and he didn't have much money left in his savings, if he didn't take the job as the car salesman with Buddy, he'd be broke…that's what Chris thinks Lyla is helping with the 3 grand.

Please drop a line and a review!

simba317


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